


New Home, Old Home

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: A Sparrow in the Wasteland [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diplomacy, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Robots, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming across the last survivors of Quincy in Concord, Sparrow and Paladin Danse lead them to Sanctuary Hills. Old griefs are laid to rest, old friends found and an agreement that could alter the course of the Commonwealth reached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Home, Old Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism with mentions of implied drug addiction/use and postnatal depression. My Danse grows a bit as a character, though it’s a slow and steady process.

 

Concord would have made for a nice little settlement with all the relatively intact brick buildings and loads of scrap material… if not for the raiders infesting the place and pinning the last of the Minutemen down in the Museum of Freedom. A rangy dark-skinned man with a pinned up hat and a laser musket cranked up his weapon and fired an impressive shot, but it was apparent that he was exhausted and would soon fail if help didn’t come soon. Fortunately for him and his friends, Paladin Danse and Field Scribe Finlay were just that.

            Cait had chosen to remain in Goodneighbour for a bit, the brawler still troubled by the events of the past couple days, while Piper couldn’t leave her little sister for too long and Nick was working an impressive backlog of cases. That left Danse and Sparrow on their own, which was probably a good thing as she was still fragile from her confession and he was trying to provide support while giving her space. If she had an addictive personality by nature, sooner or later Maxson would throw her out no matter what Danse explained – but if the chem use came from repetitive trauma, then the underlying causes needed to be addressed.

            Danse cursed his lack of power armour and mini-gun, relying on his laser rifle to deal with the heavily armoured raiders while Sparrow focused on headshots and giving the sniper on the balcony some relief. Within a few minutes the outside raiders were wiped out and the sniper took a moment to wipe his sweaty forehead and hands. “Thanks!” he yelled down at them. “There’s more inside and I’ve got a few settlers trapped with me.”

            “Then let’s send them to hell,” Danse declared, feeling more like himself since Goodneighbour. He kicked open the double doors and introduced the startled raiders inside to the best the Brotherhood had in training and weaponry.

            Short work was made of the bandits and soon Danse was looking Preston Garvey, the last of the Minutemen, in the eye. “I don’t know who you two are but your timing is impeccable,” the handsome, brown-eyed man said enthusiastically. “We’ve been holed up here for a week or so and I thought today was the end of us all.”

            “Glad to help,” Sparrow told him, earning a smile from the Minuteman. “But I suspect there’s more to be done.”

            “Not wrong,” observed the sun-darkened man in an improvised technologist’s outfit leaning against the desk with a working terminal. “There’s a nasty SOB out there who wants our hides and he needs to be dealt with.”

            “Tell them the plan, Sturges,” Preston commanded.

            “Old vertibird crashed up on the roof. Passenger left a set of power armour up there.” Sturges grinned like a child with a bowl of gum drops. “Gets better – there’s a mini-gun too.”

            “Problem is we need the fusion core in the basement,” Preston observed. “I hate to sound like I’m putting all the work on you, but I haven’t eaten in two days and we ran out of water today.”

            “I’ll get the core, you check out the power armour since you know it better than I,” Sparrow said quickly to Danse, who grinned in anticipation.

            “It will be my pleasure to show that scum what a Paladin in power armour can do, Field Scribe.”

            “Hehehe,” snickered the old woman sitting on the couch. “All hail the conquering heroes.”

            “Mama Murphy,” Preston said with a sigh, only to be hushed.

            “I see a bit of what was and what a little is, sometimes what will be,” the woman continued. “I saw the little brown bird come out of the ice box and know she’s looking for her boy.”

            Given that Sparrow hadn’t revealed any of her life story to these people, Danse regarded Mama Murphy warily. She could be a synth hoping to plant more clues for the Vault Dweller to follow.

            Unfortunately, she fell for it, hook, line and sinker. “Is he alive?”

            “He is. I can’t tell you more than that.” Mama Murphy’s pale eyes turned grim. “I know there’s something coming, drawn by the noise. It’s big and angry.”

            “Please, tell me,” Sparrow practically begged.

            “It’s big and horned. Death itself…” The old woman deflated as she ran out of energy.

            “Get that fusion core,” Danse told Sparrow before she got side-tracked. He didn’t believe Mama Murphy, but he wanted power armour before he engaged with the rest of those raiders.

            By the time she returned, Danse had given some of his ammo to Preston and shared the water he and Sparrow brought with the settlers. There wasn’t much in the way of food – they were living on the land – but the civilians got what Instamash and mac and cheese were left.

            “I want you and Preston sniping at the bastards,” Danse ordered as the Vault Dweller handed over the fusion core. It was half-full, but that was enough to get him through a firefight. “I’ll mop them up with the mini-gun.”

            The Minuteman looked ready to tell Danse where to put the orders when Sparrow slanted a quelling glance in his direction. “He’s a Senior Paladin from the Brotherhood of Steel. This sort of shit was what he was trained for.”

            Preston nodded reluctantly and cranked his musket to the maximum. The weapon was slow but powerful. Sparrow reloaded the Institute pistol she was attached to. Danse needed to teach her how to handle Righteous Authority properly.

            “Wait until you hear me land outside before coming out,” Danse added as he strode for the door. “Neither of you are any good with your heads blown off.”

            It was time to teach some human scum a lesson. And he looked forward to every moment.

…

Danse landed with a thud outside and Sparrow dashed out with Preston at her side. The raiders were swearing at each other and focusing on the Paladin, giving her the chance to prime and throw two of the three fragmentation grenades she’d picked up from other raiders at the two stubborn knots near the second line of sandbag barricades. One struck true, scattering a raider everywhere, but the other did nothing but destroy some sandbags.

            “A fucking mini-gun!” screamed one lowlife just before Danse, who’d passed on wearing a helmet, rendered him into chow with said weapon.

            Another came running up to the warrior found himself hammered to the ground with the barrel of the mini-gun and his head stomped on to make certain.

            Preston, who cranked his musket for another shot, whistled in awe. “Damn, he’s good.”

            “You have no idea,” Sparrow murmured as she fired her pistol at a charging raider. “No idea at all.”

            The battle was well in hand when something rumbled in rage and burst through the concrete.

            “Deathclaw! Dammit!” Preston cursed as the horrid beast flung two raiders to the side and charged straight for Danse.

            With the extraordinary agility he displayed in power armour, Danse jumped back at the first swipe of the beast’s claws and fended off the second with the mini-gun, breaking the deathclaw’s hand in the process. It roared in fury and lunged, landing on the Paladin and leaving him vulnerable.

            “We need to get down there now!” Preston yelled.

            Sparrow gave him a tight nod as they went for the door that would lead them to ground level.

            By the time they got down there, Danse had managed to fire up his mini-gun again and was pumping bullets into the predator’s belly. She focused on the thick powerful joints as Preston cranked up his musket to deliver a headshot.

            Stung by lasers of aqua and scarlet, the deathclaw roared and turned from Danse towards the other two fighters. Sparrow continued to fire, aiming for the bullet-riddled flesh of its stomach, as Preston aimed and pulled the trigger.

            The shot struck true, blinding the creature in one eye. Sparrow aimed her pistol for the other one and fired until it halted, roaring in agony. Then she shot the thing some more.

            Despite half the power armour trashed and baring his limbs, Danse got to his feet and used the last of the mini-gun’s bullets to hit the deathclaw from behind, then threw the useless weapon at its back and pulled out his laser rifle. After that, the battle was a formality and soon there was a steaming deathclaw carcass amidst the dead raiders.

            The Paladin swayed and fell over like a cut tree. Swearing fluently, Sparrow grabbed her medical kit and bolted for the fallen fighter. She knelt by him, pulling out a stimpak to get him moving again, when someone gave an evil chuckle.

            A bullet whizzed by her head, grazing her cheek with the sting of hot metal, as she turned and fired her pistol blindly. The blast caught the raider in the face, leaving a searing burn that left him half-blind and screaming.

            Preston’s last shot finished him off and ended that terrible scream.

            Sparrow touched her cheek, felt blood, but pulled out her last stimpak and jabbed it into Danse. Failing that, she’d have to set up an emergency transfusion and hope for the best.

            Danse revived enough to groan and try to push her away. “Dammit, soldier,” he moaned. “What are you doing down here?”

            “They’re dead,” she reassured him while Preston came up. “Can you get up?”

            “I… think so.” With her help, he sat up with a pained groan.

            “That was… pretty amazing,” the Minuteman said in awe.

            “I’m glad you approve… soldier,” Danse answered.

            “Can you get Sturges?” Sparrow asked Preston. “We’re going to need a stretcher of some kind to haul this big lug.”

            “Keep me in the frame,” Danse commanded. “I can walk.”

            In the end, the Paladin proved himself correct, though he slowed the pace of the group and needed to lean on the deceptively strong Sturges’ shoulder. Sparrow had to bite back a half-despairing laugh as Preston revealed they were going to Sanctuary – her old home of Sanctuary Hills – on the advice of Mama Murphy. “I came from there,” she finally said. “Before the war.”

            They were passing the Red Rocket Truck Stop, Preston giving her a startled glance. “What do you mean?”

            “I was put on ice for two hundred years,” Sparrow said grimly, not wanting to be acidic with an essentially decent man who’d watched all his friends die recently. “Then the Institute killed my husband and stole my son.”

            “I’m so sorry.” Preston’s voice was sincere. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

            They walked in silence until they came to the monument to the original Minutemen. Preston paused and removed his hat, bowing his head in respect, before turning to Sparrow and Danse. “Thanks for coming with us,” he said. “I’m not sure what’s intact around here, but you’re welcome to stay until the Paladin’s patched up.”

            “Give me access to a chem station and that’ll be done in a day or so,” Sparrow assured him. “It’s part of my job as a Field Scribe.”

            “Just keep Mama Murphy away from the chems,” Preston said quietly. “They give her the Sight but they’re also rough on her body.”

            Sparrow sighed. “I know how that is. Thankfully, the two I used to abuse are rare and impossible to make now.”

            “That can only be a good thing,” the Minuteman pointed out. “Look, while you’re here – Scribe? Can you help Sturges set up some things? Your friend’s not going to be travelling for a day or two and if we all put our hearts into it, we can make this a functioning settlement in that time.”

            She looked at Danse, who nodded subtly, and then back at Preston. “Alright, I’ll be honest with you. If we help out more than we have, there’s going to be an annual tithe of forty percent of the crops – paid four times a year – or goods equal to that amount for the Brotherhood. In return you get regular vertibird patrols, smoke grenades that will summon help within the hour, medical treatment when the Scribes are here and an extra cap bounty for scavenged pre-War tech.”

            “You drive a hard bargain, Scribe,” Preston said slowly. “Before we agree to anything, I need to know what exactly the Brotherhood is. I heard the broadcast – we all did. You don’t bring in an airship like that on a peacekeeping mission.”

            “Our target is the Institute and there’s talk of setting up a chapter here,” Danse said with a grimace as Sturges shifted. “Our role is to locate, salvage, preserve and protect pre-War tech from lunatics like the Institute.”

            Preston made a slightly sceptical sound – not that Sparrow could fault him. “I want to rebuild the Minutemen,” he admitted bluntly. “I don’t want conflict with your order, but things are hard enough in the Commonwealth without someone deciding they want to take over.”

            “The other choice is to let the Institute keep on replacing people with synths,” the Paladin countered with equal bluntness. “Elder Maxson has every intention of purging those bastards and their creations from the Commonwealth.”

            “And how many people will die on the way?” Preston sighed and leaned against the railing of the Old North Bridge. “I’m sorry to sound ungrateful – you saved our lives. But as a Minuteman, I need to consider these things. We all do.”

            “I understand,” Danse conceded. “Sparrow and I have a mission that will take a few days, so take some time to think about it.”

            “As a sign of good faith, I’ll help set up the water pumps and make some beds,” Sparrow told Preston. “There’s… also things I want to collect from my past life.”

            “Take what you need, Scribe.” Preston sighed again. “You two seem like good people, but I need to meet the leaders of a group before I – and those I protect – make a decision. I _definitely_ want to meet this Maxson.”

            “That’s not unreasonable,” Sparrow pointed out to Danse. “Preston, as a Minuteman, has a lot of influence in the Commonwealth.”

            “Understood.” The Paladin grimaced in pain. “I don’t want to sound rude, but can I find somewhere to sit down? I feel like hell.”

            “Of course! My apologies.” Preston flushed with embarrassment. “Look, we’ll talk later.”

            Sturges helped Danse down the street, Sparrow in their wake, when a familiar voice said, “As I live and breathe!”

            “Codsworth?” At the sight of the robot, dinged up and missing a limb but still hovering around, Sparrow burst into tears and rushed to embrace him.

…

Hours later, thanks to Sparrow and her robot, the settlers – a husband and wife, the prophetic Mama Murphy and Sturges – had clean water, rough sleeping bags made from scavenged cloth, and enough food to last them a day or so until Marcy could plant the seeds she’d brought with them. Danse felt for the survivors of Quincy, he really did, but without the protection of the Brotherhood they were going to have a lot more trouble. Thankfully the Scribe had made up some more Stimpaks, ensuring that he would be fit for duty as soon as the day after tomorrow.

            The Vault Dweller had changed from her sweaty road leathers into a clean but too-loose floral dress, Codsworth following her and somehow managing to look disconsolate, no mean trick for a Mr Handy. The robot had been devastated to learn about Nate’s death and Shaun’s kidnapping, begging Sparrow to let him accompany her into Vault 111. Of course, clinging to the last remnant of her old life, she agreed.

            “Forgive the impertinence, Miss Sparrow, but I must know Paladin Danse’s relationship with you,” the robot said.

            “Why do you need to know?” Danse, laid out on a sleeping bag and feeling lousy because Sparrow had run herself to exhaustion helping the settlers, asked bluntly.

            “So I can serve properly, of course!” Codsworth retorted, sounding offended.

            “Paladin Danse is my friend and commanding officer,” Sparrow told the butler. “If you’re with us in battle, you do as he says. Otherwise, be polite and please obey any reasonable request.”

            “Of course, mum,” the robot said cheerfully. “He reminds me a little of Master Nate. When young Shaun is found, I’m sure Master Danse will make an excellent father figure.”

            Codsworth floated off to see if anyone needed his help, leaving Sparrow with her face buried in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “He’s… just lonely.”

            “I know he means well,” Danse reassured her gently. How could he share Elder Maxson’s intentions with Sparrow when the hope of finding Shaun was almost the only thing keeping her going?

            The Scribe shook her head. “Do you need anything before I get some rest?”

            _Bunk with me, so I know you’re safe,_ he thought despite the aching wounds in his scarred hide from that damned deathclaw.

            “Some water, if you please,” he requested instead.

            Sparrow nodded and padded over the newly swept pavement to pump some clean water from the artesian beneath Sanctuary. When she returned, she knelt and helped him to sit up so he could drink.

            “I’ll go up to the Vault tomorrow so you can take it easy,” she said with a tight voice. “Codsworth and I… We want to lay Nate and the others to rest.”

            “Denied,” Danse said flatly. “I’m not sending you out alone with a robot.”

            A flash of hurt swept across those brown eyes before she went to stand, but Danse caught her forearm.

            “Predators or raiders might have moved into the Vault while you were gone. I’m sure Codsworth is capable enough but _I_ would feel easier accompanying you.” He tried to meet her eyes, to show his sincerity. He didn’t want Sparrow to be alone, not while she was so fragile.

            “I need to do this on my own with Codsworth,” she answered. “Come with me to the Vault but let me and Codsworth bury Nate on our own.”

            “Fine,” he acquiesced reluctantly. “Now get some sleep. No doubt the settlers will keep you busy tomorrow.”

            He let go of her forearm reluctantly and watched her walk to her own sleeping bag. She looked over her shoulder and he smiled reassuringly.

            Tomorrow was going to be pure hell for her.

…

In the end, Codsworth was the one who dug the grave behind the hedge that was once the pride and joy of Nate Finlay. Miss Sparrow was crying far too hard, Master Danse recovering from that terrible incident in Concord and Mister Preston too busy with helping the settlers to sort themselves out. It was good to have neighbours again, though he knew Miss Sparrow wouldn’t be staying for long – she had duties to this Brotherhood of Steel organisation that appeared to be restoring order to the Commonwealth. He rather hoped she and Master Danse let him come along – it would be good to have someone to serve again and it was obvious she wasn’t eating properly. The settlers were rather lovely people but they weren’t _his_ family.

            Master Danse – he knew his title was Paladin but Codsworth thought of the man as the successor to Master Nate – spoke a soldier’s eulogy over the grave. They’d buried all the others up on the hill with a lovely view of the surrounding land, but Nate was planted where the hedge he’d cultivated into the exemplar of household boundary. Codsworth knew the soldier had been very proud about his home with the white picket fence and all the modern conveniences, including himself. Miss Sparrow had been more ambivalent – but young Shaun had been a handful and with her mother down in Washington and Codsworth not around yet, no wonder it had been so hard for her.

            Codsworth sighed. He’d been programmed with problem-solving abilities and a certain amount of autonomy by Master Nate because for the first few months, it had been all Miss Sparrow could do to take care of herself and the babe. It had been no hardship – Miss Sparrow had been and still was a lovely woman, though made harsher by her travails in the Commonwealth, and treated him like he was one of the family. Being told to take care as the bombs fell and being embraced on her return had proven that.

            When the dark earth was folded over Nate Finlay’s frozen corpse, Mister Preston approached with Mama Murphy, whose oracular abilities were impressive, and Mister Sturges, who was a mechanical genius. The poor Longs were barely keeping themselves together long enough to plant their precious seeds and if Mistress Sparrow asked him to stay, he supposed that he’d be tending the crops so Mister Jun could grieve.

            “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mister Preston said with simple sincerity as Miss Sparrow collected herself.

            “Thanks.” Miss Sparrow managed the ghost of a smile as Master Danse nodded brusquely at the Minuteman.

            “We’ve been talking and we’ve decided that we’d definitely like to meet with Elder Maxson before making any decisions about allegiance,” Mister Preston continued. “However, we’re open to trading fairly with the Brotherhood – I’m hoping to raise a new band of Minutemen to support the unprotected settlements.”

            “No matter how good your intentions, self-trained militia – citizen soldiers as you call yourselves – are no match for a proper military force,” Master Danse pointed out – quite correctly too.

            “True,” Mister Preston agreed. “But the Minutemen have a few tricks up our sleeve, Paladin, tricks I’m happy to deploy against the Institute if a fair alliance is made with your order.”

            “Have you considered joining the Brotherhood yourself?” Master Danse asked.

            “Thank you for the offer, but no,” Mister Preston replied. “The strength of the Minutemen is that we’re mobile and flexible. It… had its weaknesses - Quincy proved that – but I’ve always preferred lending my neighbour a hand and getting one in return. If you’re willing to help me protect the people of the Commonwealth and treat them fairly, I’m willing to lend my hand – and musket – when you need it.”

            Codsworth had to admire Mister Preston’s convictions in the face of Master Danse, who easily had muscle and inches on the Minuteman, and even agree with them to a certain point.

            Master Danse looked to Miss Sparrow, who was looking thoughtful. “I’d argue we need all the allies we can get,” she finally said. “There are settlements who would prefer independence over protection out there, but there’s no reason why we can’t set up trade routes.”

            “Exactly!” Mister Preston enthused. “I’m willing to work with the Brotherhood if they want to settle here – if they’re like you two, then they seem like a good bunch of people. But I’m not someone’s lackey and the people of the Commonwealth deserve better than to trade one tyrant for another.”

            “What can you offer us in alliance?” Miss Sparrow asked, throwing Master Danse a shushing look. “Military technology is a no-no for the Brotherhood to share without a _damned_ good reason, but Proctor Ingram said it was permissible to help out with setting up defences and patching folks up.”

            “If I can coordinate enough settlements, I can gain enough people to retake the Minutemen’s old outposts,” Mister Preston immediately answered. “If the Brotherhood were willing to lend a hand as a sign of good faith, I can offer somewhere they can rest and patch up when they’re away from the airship, and talk people into offering good prices for supplies so long as they’re treated fairly.”

            “I can’t make promises,” Master Danse said slowly. “But if you’re just asking for the odd hand – and if there’s any pre-War military tech involved, it’s ours – Elder Maxson may be amenable. It would certainly spare vertibirds from having to make patrols…”

            The Paladin rubbed his chin. “We have a particular zone of influence around Boston Airport and will be working to sponsor settlements within it. If the Minutemen agree to not interfere – we aren’t tyrants, they’re given the same terms that we offered you – it will make an alliance much easier to achieve.”

            “That’s fair enough,” Mister Preston conceded. “The Castle at the southern tip of the coast – old fortress infested with mirelurks – is ours and always has been. Once, it was our main base of operations.”

            “Understood. We hold the Airport, Fort Strong and Cambridge Police Station, with Hangman’s Alley as our first sponsored settlement,” Master Danse replied. “We plan to establish influence around Nordhagen Beach but that’s as far north as we intend to go at the moment.”

            “Got it.” Mister Preston sighed and removed his hat, wiping at his forehead. “Once we retake the Castle, we’ll definitely open up formal communications with the Brotherhood. Until then, it’s going to have to be informal quid pro quo.”

            “What do you want from us in the immediate future?” Miss Sparrow asked shrewdly. Codsworth was rather happy to see the thoughtful glint in her eyes again.

            “There’s trouble up at Tenpines Bluff,” Preston immediately answered. “Raiders out from Corvega Factory, I think. They’re terrorising everyone.”

            Master Danse’s mouth curled up into something resembling a snarl. “I lost good Knights to those bastards.”

            “Then we have a mutual enemy,” Mister Preston pointed out.

            “We have to go back that way to the Prydwen,” Miss Sparrow observed. “I definitely want to talk to Proctor Ingram about proper lead-lined armour for our little jaunt into the Glowing Sea.”

            Mister Preston exchanged glances with Sturges and Mama Murphy. “I’ll join you,” the Minuteman finally said. “I won’t have it said that the Minutemen got others to do their fighting for them.”

            “I’ll finish setting up things here, boss,” Mister Sturges told his commander.

            “Thanks, Sturges.” Mister Preston flashed a smile. “Mama Murphy?”

            “Do what you must, Preston.” The oracle, shabby just like everything else in the Commonwealth, looked penetratingly at Master Danse.

            “A man needs friends in the Commonwealth, Paladin, and you’re going to need them more than most by the time this all ends.” Her voice had fallen into a sing-song. “Remember it’s the heart and soul that makes a person, not the flesh, and that will of steel you have will carry you through the pain to the other side.”

            The old woman coughed and pounded her chest. “Jet’s always got a kick to it.”

            Master Danse looked at Mister Preston, who shrugged. “Damned if I know what she means. Sturges, can you keep her off the chems while I’m gone?”

            “Hush, Preston,” Mama Murphy retorted. “We’re going to need the Sight and so will the little brown bird and the soldier of steel. We all die and my time is soon.”

            Miss Sparrow didn’t look happy and Codsworth recalled her own struggle with chems. “Perhaps we should save the Sight for the most important things?” he suggested tentatively. “No need to read the tea leaves, so to speak, when looking outside will tell us the weather.”

            “Makes sense,” Mister Sturges agreed readily. Mister Preston was a fine man but Mister Sturges was rather more sensible.

            Codsworth looked pleadingly at Miss Sparrow. “Please let me come with you,” he requested. “I still have the buzzsaw and flame-thrower attachments.”

            “The more we have for the fight at Corvega, the better,” Mister Preston agreed.

            “In that case, if you can wait a day or so, I can send word to Cait,” Miss Sparrow said. “She’ll be pretty annoyed if we don’t invite her to a brawl.”

            She pulled out a long thin whistle from her pocket and blew on it; soon enough, the dog from Red Rocket Truck Stop arrived. “Dogmeat,” she greeted, patting the hound on the head. “Get Cait and bring her here.”

            The dog barked once and took off, claws clicking against the pavement.

            “He led me and two others across half the Commonwealth to find the bastard who took my baby,” Miss Sparrow explained.

            “Dogmeat’s pretty smart,” Mister Preston confirmed. “I’ll get back to it and when this Cait arrives, we’ll head out to Corvega. I really appreciate this, both of you.”

            “We have mutual enemies,” Master Danse pointed out. Then he groaned as his still-healing wounds must have pulled when he shifted.

            “You’re going to rest,” Miss Sparrow said firmly. “Codsworth, honey, could you please get some water from the pumps?”

            “My pleasure, mum!” the robot declared, happy to be serving again. It would take some time to adjust to the new Miss Sparrow – and Master Danse’s little quirks would need to be learned – but for the first time since the bombs fell, Codsworth felt content. He had a family to serve again and when they found young Shaun, all would be as it was supposed to once more.


End file.
